


Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

by little0bird



Series: Spring Returning [14]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Joffrey Baratheon, Dead Myrcella Baratheon, Dead Tommen Baratheon, Game of Thrones Alternate Universe, Gen, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Uncovering Jaime's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25287502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: Jaime reached for the scroll, the line between his brows deepening.  ‘What is this…?’‘The maesters of Evenfall keep every official scroll from the king or Lord Paramount.’  Nikolas licked his lips and nudged the scroll with a fingertip, distaste written in every line of his body.  ‘That one came from Stannis Baratheon.  Before he tried to attack King’s Landing.’Jaime picked up the scroll.  He had an inkling of what it said.  He could still recall how the contents had flown about the Stark camp, flitting from tent to tent like so many dragonflies on the river at dusk.  ‘You ought to ask your uncle Tyrion about the war,’ he commented lightly, hoping his voice didn’t betray his inner turmoil.  ‘He orchestrated the city’s defense.  Kept Stannis’ fleet from landing at Blackwater Bay.’  Jaime carefully unrolled the scroll.  ‘Come to think of it, you could also speak with Ser Davos.  He was Stannis’ Hand before he became Hand to Jon Snow.  He could give you Stannis’ side of things…’  He trailed off as he slowly read the scroll, one of his nightmares coming true.  Stannis’ scribe wrote with a fine, clear hand that troubled Jaime little to read.  He sat down abruptly on a stool, feeling the blood drain from his face.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Spring Returning [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1392991
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

Nikolas cornered Jaime in the tack room of the stable. ‘Are you busy?’ He closed the door behind him. 

‘Not too busy for you.’ Jaime peered at Nikolas. He was pale, sweaty, and appeared for all the world as though he was doing everything he could to avoid throwing up all over his boots. ‘Why don’t we go inside and see the maester?’

Nikolas shook his head. ‘No.’ Jaime took a step toward his son, but Nikolas took a step back. ‘Maester Embrose thought I should study the War of the Five Kings before I go to Winterfell.’

‘Understandable. Robb Stark was one of the five kings.’ Jaime gave Nikolas a self-deprecating grin. ‘I’ll tell you all about how he tricked me in the infamous Battle of the Whispering Wood. I’ll spare you the details of my imprisonment. Suffice to say I spent a year chained to a post in the Stark camp sitting in my own shit.’

Nikolas fished in the cuff of his sleeve and withdrew a cylinder of ageing, yellowed parchment. ‘Is this true?’ He threw it on the table piled with bridles and halters in various states of disrepair. 

Jaime reached for the scroll, the line between his brows deepening. ‘What is this…?’

‘The maesters of Evenfall keep every official scroll from the king or Lord Paramount.’ Nikolas licked his lips and nudged the scroll with a fingertip, distaste written in every line of his body. ‘That one came from Stannis Baratheon. Before he tried to attack King’s Landing.’

Jaime picked up the scroll. He had an inkling of what it said. He could still recall how the contents had flown about the Stark camp, flitting from tent to tent like so many dragonflies on the river at dusk. ‘You ought to ask your uncle Tyrion about the war,’ he commented lightly, hoping his voice didn’t betray his inner turmoil. ‘He orchestrated the city’s defense. Kept Stannis’ fleet from landing at Blackwater Bay.’ Jaime carefully unrolled the scroll. ‘Come to think of it, you could also speak with Ser Davos. He was Stannis’ Hand before he became Hand to Jon Snow. He could give you Stannis’ side of things…’ He trailed off as he slowly read the scroll, one of his nightmares coming true. Stannis’ scribe wrote with a fine, clear hand that troubled Jaime little to read. He sat down abruptly on a stool, feeling the blood drain from his face. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered.

‘Is it true?’ Nikolas’ voice cracked from the strain of not shouting.

‘Go saddle your horse and have one of the stable boys saddle mine.’ Jaime stood and opened the door. ‘I will answer any questions you might have. Just not here.’

He managed to walk out of the stable and cross the courtyard without reeling. When he and Brienne confessed the truth of his identity to Nikolas several months ago, they accepted the risk that the more sordid aspects of his history would come to light. He was fully prepared to address his complicity in propping up Cersei’s regime, but he’d rather hoped the nature of his relationship would remain buried with her.

He sidled into the hall and stood at the back, waiting for Brienne to finish some bit of business with the master-of-arms before he lifted his hand to catch her attention. Her expression didn’t change, but she murmured something to Ser Allyn, and strode from the hall, Jaime falling into step beside her. He turned into an alcove and stood with his back against the wall. Brienne stood next to him, resting the sole of one foot on the wall behind her. Neither of them looked at the other. ‘Nikolas asked about _her_. And the children.’

Brienne stared at the torch in a sconce until her eyes watered. ‘Why?’ 

‘Learning about the War of the Five Kings. Came across Stannis’ letter denouncing her… me… branding the children as bastards.’

‘I see.’ Brienne examined the cuff of her tunic, picking at a loose thread in the embroidered suns and moons that circled her wrists. She had never considered herself particularly jealous of Cersei. Not even when she had been alive. Even so, rarely had a single human being provoked such white-hot rage within her. ‘You could lie,’ she ventured, her lips stiff. 

Jaime rubbed his forefinger over his mouth. ‘You think I should lie?’

‘I think you ought to let it be. People believed it to be a rumor. Everyone thought Stannis to be in thrall of that priestess --’

‘Which he was, according to Davos,’ Jaime interjected.

‘He was a man who willingly murdered his brother in pursuit of a crown that wasn’t his.’ Brienne never raised her voice above a low murmur, but it brimmed with indignation all the same.

‘That, my lady, is debatable.’ Brienne shot him a look. Jaime held up a placating hand. ‘Not the murder. The crown.’

Brienne’s eyes closed, and she inhaled deeply. Jaime could see her lips move slightly as she counted slowly to ten. ‘What do you gain by telling Nikolas the truth?’

Jaime let the back of his head rest against the wall. ‘Nothing.’ He left it unsaid that he risked losing their son’s respect. He slipped his hook around her wrist and drew her hand closer so he could grasp it with his.

‘Then let your past well and truly die with her. Please.’

‘That’s not very honorable of you, Lady Brienne.’

Brienne flushed dully. ‘There are some situations where strict adherence to honor has caused more problems than it solved,’ she retorted, fingers closing around his right wrist. ‘Telling him the truth will do more harm than good.’

‘And there are still people who remember the rumors.’ Jaime exhaled with enough force to make the torch flicker. They could go round and round in circles around one another all day. ‘I cannot in good conscience send him out into the world armed only with hollow assurances that they were only the ravings of a grasping usurper.’

Brienne turned her head and used her fingers to turn his to face her. ‘Jaime Lannister is dead. Leave him be.’

He ran his hand over his hair and beard. They’d both gone completely grey just before Selwyn died. Every year, the reflection that stared back at him resembled Jaime Lannister less and less. ‘We both know that to be untrue. I am decidedly not the person I used to be, but the incestuous Kingslayer is still my past.’ He tried to smile with his habitual cheekiness, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘With any luck, Nikolas won’t hate me enough to shoot me with a crossbow in the privy while I’m in the midst of taking a shit.’

Brienne tilted her head back and gazed at the bit of blue sky she could see from an oriel window. ‘I disagree with this. There is absolutely no reason do it.’ She gave Jaime a long sidelong glance. ‘Nothing’s more hateful —‘

‘Than failing to protect the ones you love,’ Jaime muttered, cutting her off. ‘This is protecting him,’ he said, his voice taut. ‘It’s arming him with knowledge, so no one can ever ambush him with it. He should hear it from me, and not someone else.’

Brienne glared at him for several long moments. ‘I can’t persuade you otherwise, can I?’

‘No.’

She nodded once, then pushed herself from the wall. ’I’ll have Ser Allyn hide the crossbows.’

* * *

It was the height of summer. The sun beat on his shoulders, and Jaime could just make out the blur of the mainland on the other side of the Straits of Tarth. This had quickly become his favorite place on Tarth. It was peaceful here. His past didn’t matter, and his future was as yet unwritten. And on this island, they were just far enough from the mainland that he could let himself believe his former life would never cast its shadow over them. He had always known it to be a foolish notion. In truth, he and Brienne had held their breath, waiting for someone to say something. Jaime slid off his gelding and hobbled him before he limped to the edge. ‘When I first came to Tarth, your grandfather brought me to this very place. I thought he was going to push me into the sea.’

‘Is it true?’ Nikolas unconsciously mimicked his father’s pose, arms crossed over his chest. ‘What they said. That you and your…’ He shuddered, and swallowed back a wave of revulsion. ‘And her children were… yours.’ It was too much to even give word to. 

Jaime sighed at the queasy expression on Nikolas’ face. ‘That’s the look. The one I hoped I would never have to see on your face.’ He loosened the laces at the neck of his shirt. He rather imagined they would be there for some time. ‘Do you want the complicated version or the simple one?’

‘There’s a simple version?’ Nikolas scoffed. ‘Nothing about this is what I would term simple.’

‘You’re right. It’s not simple at all.’ Jaime lifted his face to the sun, and like Brienne took in a slow, deep breath, and counted to ten. He needed to gather his thoughts. ‘Tywin Lannister taught us we were better than everyone else from the moment we were born until the day he died. No other family could match the Lannisters in their wit, ruthlessness, beauty… And Cersei believed it. Fervently so.’ He turned and picked his way across the grass to a half-buried log and carefully lowered himself to it. ‘Family came first, above all others. She was cunning enough to manipulate me, my emotions around it… from a very young age. Even before I took vows for the Kingsguard, she constantly whispered that no woman would ever be good enough for me.’ He clenched his fist a few times. ‘Girls… women… didn’t interest me until much later, but her words stayed with me. And then after Aerys, she would murmur in my ear that _she_ loved me when everyone else hated me. That we were exceptional, not only because we were Lannisters, but because we were twins, we shared a bond that nobody else could understand. And she was beautiful. Then. When she wanted children… Well, I was happy to oblige. We needed to keep the bloodline pure. It was what the Targaryens did, so why couldn’t we? Were we not as every bit as exceptional as they?’

‘But the Targaryens were mad. You’ve told me about Aerys, how he raved and executed his perceived enemies in the cruelest way possible. Daenerys Targaryen all but obliterated King’s Landing because she went mad.’ Nikolas perched on the other end of the log, his seat uneasy and tentative. ‘Why would you want to emulate that?’ 

‘Ah, but we were Lannisters. The gods would never deign to allow a Lannister to go mad.’ Jaime covertly studied Nikolas’ face. His complexion had gone a sickly greenish-grey. ‘I can stop, if you wish.’ 

Nikolas gulped and shook his head. He slid off the log and huddled among the waving grass. ‘What were they like?’ He looked up then. ‘Are Cwen and I like them?’ Even as the words crossed his lips, Nikolas wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to hear the answer.

‘No. Nothing at all like Joffrey, thank the gods. He was every bit as cruel and sadistic as my father and sister could be, and then some. No one wept for him when he died. Myrcella…’ Jaime’s arms twitched at the memory of holding her as her last breath left her body. ‘The most intelligent of the three. She had deduced I’d fathered her. I was rather clumsily attempting to confess it her when she said she knew it was me. Just before she died. I don’t know that anyone truly grieved for her. For Myrcella as a living, breathing person, and not some… idea of her. Tommen was a sweet boy. Compassionate and completely unprepared to rule. When he became king, he spent his entire reign constantly pulled between his mother’s will and that of the High Sparrow. He committed suicide, and Cersei… she never shed a tear for him.’ Jaime dragged his hand over his face. Even now, it was difficult for him to sort through his own feelings regarding Cersei’s children. That was the crux of it. They had never been his in any way, except for the brief act that had created them. Anyone else who had known them was long dead. In due time, they would only exist as names on a page in a book.

‘Do you miss them?’ As much as Jaime had tried to hide the hitch in his voice, Nikolas had heard it. His own voice was small, and nearly lost among the sound of the wind and surf. He couldn’t help but wonder if his father found him and Cwengyth lacking in comparison to his other children. It was one thing to compare himself to a living, breathing sibling; it was quite another to try and vie with the ghost of a child retained only as an idealized memory.

‘I didn’t know them well enough to miss them once I’d mourned them.’ Jaime winced. It sounded cold and indifferent to his own ears. ‘Cersei insisted I keep them at arm’s length. She didn’t want people to suspect the true nature of our relationship or that I’d fathered her children. That she’d deceived Robert Baratheon and the kingdom.’ He unbuckled the cuff of his hook and set it aside, then began to massage the stump more for something to do with his hand than because it ached. He thought Nikolas would bolt if he so much as touched him. ‘Had the accusation come from someone other than Stannis, people might have lent it more credence, but as it was…’ Jaime shrugged. 

‘People thought he said it out of self-interest,’ Nikolas finished in a mumble. ‘That’s what Maester Embrose said.’

‘Did he?’

Nikolas nodded slowly. ‘He also supposed the rumor was probably started by someone who wanted to destabilize the kingdom.’ He sprawled on his back and stared up at the clouds scudding across the sky.

Jaime considered the cascade of events that had been set in motion, starting with Jon Arryn’s murder. So much war, death, and destruction. More than one House had been obliterated. To this day, he hadn’t the faintest idea who had benefited in the end. Certainly no one he knew. He took in a deep breath of the salt-laden air. ‘Whoever did start the rumors, they succeeded far beyond their wildest dreams to rock the foundations of the kingdom, if that was their intention.’

Jaime eased himself to the ground and stretched out on the grass next to Nikolas. He let his eyes drift shut. Between the sun, the gentle breeze that wafted over the grass, and the low murmur of the surf below, he drifted on the edge of sleep.

Nikolas abruptly sat up. ‘Does Mamma know?’

Jaime cracked opened one eyelid. ‘Of course she does. Your mother and I have few secrets between us.’ Jaime sat up and plucked a stalk of grass. He leaned back against the log and began to chew it. ‘She’s known since the day she met me.’ He eyed his son. ‘And she is kind enough to never mention it.’ He glanced at the position of the sun overhead, and used the log to haul himself to his feet. Evening chores in the stables waited for no one. Not even for those grappling with their unsavory pasts. ‘I need to get back to the castle. I trust you will be in the hall for dinner.’

‘Yes.’

Jaime retrieved his hook and buckled it onto his stump while he walked to his horse. Nikolas sat amongst the waving grass, watching as his father mounted his horse and disappeared into the woods with more questions than he’d had before.


End file.
